


We Break Our Knuckles on Our Happy Endings

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: And Can You Blame Them, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Divergence, Chinatown, Enemies to Grudging Partners to Oh Wait We're in Love When Did That Happen, Everyone Wants Garcia Flynn, M/M, Messy Messy Boys, Multi, Proper Communication is a Foreign Concept, That Was Not the Plan, These Boys Got Soft on Me, Utter Disasters, Wyatt Logan Has Actual Personal Growth, eventual OT3, i hate them, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: When Wyatt takes the hit meant for Rufus, everything changes—and he and Flynn find themselves left behind in Chinatown.





	We Break Our Knuckles on Our Happy Endings

They were emerging from the saloon when it happened.

Jiya had her arm through Rufus’s, Lucy was in front of him—and Wyatt saw Jess, about to disappear down an alley.

Fuck, if this as his last chance to beg her, to ask—he didn’t even know what—he was taking it.

He pushed Rufus to the side, trying to get past him—

The shot rang out, and fire erupted in his side.

Lucy screamed. Wyatt didn’t even feel his legs giving out, although he did feel his back hitting the barrels. Fuck.

“I’ve got you.” Jiya was putting pressure on the wound, clearly not the first she’d seen in her time in Chinatown. He didn’t know how this nerves of steel woman had developed in the three years she’d been on her own but fuck he was grateful for it. “Chest wound.”

There was another scream from Lucy, this one of unadulterated rage that Wyatt hadn’t even known she was capable of. His vision swirled, blurring, and then Lucy was gone, running after Emma—

“Luce…” Emma would kill her, she wasn’t safe, _fuck—_

“I’ve got her,” Flynn snarled, and then he was taking off after the two women.

Rufus got his arms underneath Wyatt’s and hauled him to his feet. “We gotta get you to the Lifeboat.”

“There’s five of us,” Jiya said, desperation in her voice.

“One of us can stay behind, it’s fine, we planned that going in.”

“Rufus Carlin I am _not_ leaving you, not again—”

Wyatt shook Rufus off. “Leave me behind, then.”

“What?” Rufus shook his head. “No, man, I know I’m pissed at you but I’m not just gonna leave you to die.”

“I have to go after Jess,” Wyatt insisted. Wow, the world was tilting dangerously.

Someone fired at them and Jiya jolted, grabbing Rufus and yanking him behind the barrels.

Now was his chance.

Through sheer goddamn willpower, Wyatt got himself to stagger across the street, down the alleyway after Jess.

He loved her and didn’t love her at the same time, but no matter how confused he was about her, and about Lucy, the one thing he wasn’t doing was giving up on her. Even if she’d secretly hated him this whole time, the Jess he knew and remembered was a good person and she deserved better than Rittenhouse. And their baby, if she was really pregnant, certainly deserved better. He wouldn’t be like his mom.

He wouldn’t give up on his kid and leave assholes to raise them.

 

* * *

 

He never wanted to leave this stupid filthy alley.

He had to, he knew he did, but Lucy was cradled in his arms and she needed him, needed someone so desperately, and he wasn’t all that inclined to return either of them to the world of responsibilities as large as saving history and civilization and time itself.

But then, what Flynn wanted, personally, had disappeared long ago like so much smoke.

Flynn desperately hauled Lucy up to her feet. His shoulder screamed in pain but Lucy was practically a deadweight. Where the fuck was Wyatt, for God’s sake? Probably getting shot by Jess at this point, and Flynn was sort of inclined to say good riddance.

“Lucy.” He took her hand, keeping his other arm around her so she stayed upright. _Moja ljubav_ , he wanted to say, only barely biting it back. It wasn’t that he thought he had the right to use endearments with her, but she was clearly in such pain, his instinct to reassure almost overrode everything else. “We have to go, Lucy, I’m sorry.”

She stumbled along after him as they ran out of the alley. Jiya and Rufus were crouched behind some barrels, and Flynn got off a couple shots to cover them, but where the fuck was Wyatt?

Lucy noticed that, too. “Where is he?” she said.

“He took off after Jess!” Jiya yelled.

“He’s been shot!” Flynn yelled. The fucking idiot, he’d bleed out.

“I’ll go—” Lucy started, but like hell Flynn was letting her put herself in danger like that, especially for the man who’d treated her like an emotional side piece for months.

“No, I’ll go, I’ll get him. Get to the Lifeboat.”

Lucy squeezed his hand. “Flynn. Garcia.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine, just go.”

Lucy stared at him for a moment, her eyes wet, and then she got up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. His heart felt like it was cracking open and he knew that she wasn’t thanking him just for this, the latest in a series of favors he’d been doing her. Then her eyes hardened. “Come back.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

It physically hurt to take his hand out of hers, but he did it, and he ran after Wyatt.

 

* * *

 

“Jess!”

She turned—and gasped. “Wyatt, fuck, you’re—”

“Bleeding, I know.” He sagged against the wall. “Jess, please, c’mon, come back with us.”

She looked at him sadly. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You can’t really want to work for Rittenhouse.”

Jess hurried over to him. “Stop talking, for fuck’s sake. God, you idiot…”

“We’re your family, Jess, please.”

“Rittenhouse is my family. They saved my brother, they raised me.” She looked at his wound, making a small noise of despair when she saw how bad it was. “I really do love you. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Wyatt looked up into her eyes, wondering how she could sound so soft, so warm, when she was telling him something like this. “Are you really pregnant?”

Jess looked hurt that he’d even ask. “Yes.”

“And is the baby mine?”

She took his hand, squeezing hard. “ _Yes_.”

“Then we’re your family!”

Footsteps sounded at the end of the alley. Jess jerked back. “Get help, Wyatt, you’ll bleed out.” She raised her voice. “Help this man, please, he’s been shot!”

“Jess—”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned and ran, disappearing through the door just as Flynn of all people ran up.

“You goddamn fucking asshole,” Flynn growled. He hauled Wyatt to his feet and got Wyatt’s arm around his shoulders, pressing his hand to Wyatt’s wound. “You’re going to fucking die, you know that, right?”

“I had to,” Wyatt said, or tried to, but the words came out rather slurred.

“What? You thought another last-minute plea was going to save you? After you messed up the last however many?”

“You don’t know shit about that.”

“I do, because Lucy does, and…”

“If you say it’s in that fucking journal so help me…”

Flynn managed to get them to the mouth of the alley, but then he stumbled, grunting in pain. Oh, fuck, right, Flynn had been shot, too.

“You should…” Wow, words were hard. “You should just… run…”

“I can’t leave you.”

Wyatt snorted. His mouth tasted like iron. That wasn’t good. “You hate me.”

“Maybe. But I’m not letting Lucy lose one more person she loves.”

That—that did a number on his heart. Which did a number on his guilt. Fuck.

Flynn got them across the street, the firefight finished with Emma gone, but when they reached the edge of the buildings Wyatt’s legs gave up the ghost and he took Flynn down with him.

“Shit,” Flynn said, followed by a lot of colorful words in Croatian. Wyatt wasn’t sure what happened next, because his vision started going dark, but he heard Flynn yelling something. Then he was on a bed of some kind, and pain flared in his chest, and he was holding someone’s hand and pretty sure he was crying, and the hand was large and rough but keeping him steady and gripping back tight, and then he didn’t feel anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt slept for three days.

Flynn knew, because he’d gotten them a room at one of the saloons and it only had one bed and he was constantly checking on the guy to make sure Wyatt hadn’t up and died while Flynn was dozing. Not that Flynn would’ve been too cut up if Wyatt had died, but he’d literally gotten left behind in this godforsaken town for this little shit and it would be really fucking annoying if he went and died on him after Flynn had threatened the town doctor into saving Wyatt’s life.

Jiya’s little friend had been very helpful, running errands for Flynn and giving him information. Flynn made a habit of acquiring currency whenever he time traveled—pick pocketing was a skill that always came in handy—so he had enough to pay for the room and some food but he’d have to get some kind of job soon to last them until the Lifeboat came back for them.

And it would come back. It had to. The team just had to wait until enough time had passed that they weren’t crossing over their own timeline to get back to them. Whether that was weeks or months or a year, though, Flynn didn’t know.

So until then it was stay put and keep Wyatt from getting gangrene.

On the third day, Wyatt woke up, and then gave Flynn a bunch of trouble because he couldn’t really move, hated that he couldn’t really move, and couldn’t always keep food down.

Playing nursemaid to the man whose shit romantic choices had gotten them all into this mess in the first place was probably a punishment in the fifth circle of Hell, but Flynn stuck it out. If nothing else Wyatt was quiet and kept the grumbling about being an invalid to himself, which was a nice change from the never shutting up habit the asshole generally had. Slowly but surely, Wyatt’s pale yellow pallor changed to a healthier glow, his eyes went from dull to bright blue, and he started to breathe deeply without wincing in pain.

Flynn was surprised at how his legs nearly gave out when he returned from work—he’d gotten a job as a bartender downstairs since he was a good listener and able to kick out unruly guests, and the irony of it given his own relationship with the bartenders of São Paulo was not lost on him—to find Wyatt standing up and slowly but carefully shaving using the basin.

“You’re standing up,” he said, stupidly.

Wyatt looked over at him. “You’re filthy.”

Flynn was, in fact, covered in dust and alcohol since there’d been a fight and whiskey had gotten dumped on his shirt in the process of breaking it up. “Are you this charming with the ladies?”

Wyatt glared at him and went back to shaving.

“Thanks for saving my life, Flynn,” Flynn said, doing a purposefully awful imitation of Wyatt’s American accent and gruff voice. “Thanks for staying behind in this shithole and getting a job so I could lie around in bed and recover from my near-fatal gunshot wound. You’re a real pal.”

Wyatt held up the razor. “You know I can cut you with this.”

“That’s a fine way to talk to the man who literally saved your stupid life.”

Wyatt’s face went pink, even though he never stopped glaring furiously. “Thanks,” he snapped.

“You’re welcome.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes and went back to shaving. He looked better clean shaven, not with that weird bush on his face, but Flynn hadn’t wanted to presume and shave it for Wyatt. He’d assaulted the man’s dignity enough already dressing and re-dressing the wound as it healed and keeping Wyatt clean as best he could with a damp cloth since Wyatt couldn’t take a bath and get the dressing wet.

No, clean shaven—or with a bit of stubble—was definitely the way to go. It helped show off Wyatt’s face. The guy wasn’t someone who’d turn heads, in Flynn’s opinion, but he was pretty and had a kind of soft look to his face. It was the attitude about him, Flynn supposed, that made him attractive to people. The way Wyatt talked and walked and stood like he was daring someone to pick a fight with him—and win that fight.

Flynn blinked. Why the hell was he thinking about this?

Wyatt finished shaving and then sat down on the bed, breathing a little heavily. “Fuck,” he swore quietly.

“You all right?”

“Fine. Just.” Wyatt shook his head. “Last time I was this down for the count it was the shrapnel. I hate that I can’t do shit. I stand for ten minutes and I get light headed.”

“It’ll take time. Doctor said you were damn lucky.”

Wyatt looked over at him warily. “I’ll get a job, soon as I can. Pay you back for all of this.”

Flynn snorted. “This isn’t the shit you have to pay me back for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Flynn shrugged, standing up. “If you can’t figure out where you screwed up, Logan, I’m not your therapist. It’s not my job to tell you.”

He stripped off his shirt and went to take a bath. God, Wyatt was thick in the head.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was going to die.

How exactly he would die was up for debate. But he knew for a fact Flynn would be the one to do it.

The first week Wyatt was well enough to actually move around and talk, he and Flynn got into about two arguments a day and the owner of the saloon (Jim, perfectly nice guy if a bit gruff) asked them if they wanted to just do pistols at dawn and get the whole thing over with.

The second week, they had just three arguments and spent the rest of the time pointedly ignoring each other or being so passive-aggressive that the patrons started taking bets.

The third week, Wyatt learned the hard way that Flynn had somehow become the favorite bartender because he called Flynn quite a few names and three prospectors pulled their guns on him and asked Flynn if they wanted Wyatt ‘taken care of’. Flynn had then been in the awkward position of explaining that despite all appearances, Wyatt was his roommate, and they were a team.

The fourth week, they just didn’t talk at all.

On top of Flynn generally wanting to strangle him (and Wyatt generally wanting to stick out his foot and make Flynn fall down the stairs and break his neck), there was the fact that they were still sharing a goddamn bed. Sharing a bed with Flynn was possibly going to be the thing that did Wyatt in, because if he woke up one more time with his head on Flynn’s shoulder and Flynn’s arms around him, he was going to induce a heart attack and die. It wasn’t fair, dammit, and it was just natural, all right, Flynn was warm and smelled nice and Wyatt was human, humans craved physical touch.

That was all there was to it.

It was really no wonder that he got spectacularly drunk one night. Wyatt was only surprised that it had taken him five weeks to do it. The specter of his dad, probably, and Jess’s accusation that for her he’d been a jealous drunk.

But he was drunk now, oh boy, he was drunk off his _ass_.

Part of why he was drunk, frankly, was Flynn’s fault. And not even because of the whole arguing thing, but because he’d had to spend all night watching every single girl in what felt like the entire county flirting with him.

Not that Flynn noticed.

Wyatt was pretty sure one of the women could flash her breasts at him and Flynn would just ask if she was cold and needed a shirt. That was the level of obliviousness going on here. Although… it could have all been an act. Flynn and Lucy were—something. Flynn, at least, was in love with her. Wyatt had no idea where Lucy stood on anything anymore and to be honest he was kind of terrified to see her again. The more time he spent away from her and Jess, the more he realized that he loved Jess but wasn’t _in_ love with her, and that Flynn had been right all those months ago when he’d said Wyatt needed to let Jess go.

Didn’t change the fact that he’d chosen her instead of Lucy, had begged Jess to come back and give him another chance, and then he’d blown that chance out of the water somehow, and had managed to kick Lucy while she was down while he was at it, and so yeah, he was pretty fucking terrified to see Lucy again.

If he saw her again.

Anyway, it could very well have been loyalty to Lucy that was keeping Flynn from reacting to the not-so-subtle hints that Mei Ling and Rachel, two of the saloon girls, were dropping. All the women who came into this saloon—and there’d been a hell of a lot more of them since Flynn had started tending bar, Wyatt had been counting—tried their luck but Mei Ling and Rachel were the boldest and the most persistent.

It made Wyatt’s gut tighten and roil angrily, made him feel like the room was too hot.

“I’m cutting you off,” Flynn told him, taking the glass away.

Wyatt glared at him, pawing uselessly in the air for the glass. “Give it back.”

“No.”

Wyatt braced himself on the counter and reached, but Flynn just raised his hand above his head. “Go ahead,” he said, sounding amused. “Try.”

Wyatt did, in fact, try, and nearly fell over. Flynn caught him and helped him sit back down on the stool. “My point has been made.”

“You didn’t make any point.”

“Don’t make me regret not letting you faceplant.”

Wyatt stuck out his bottom lip. “Flyyyyyyyyyynn.”

“I didn’t save your ass so you could kill your liver.” He set a glass of water in front of Wyatt. “Drink up.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, you mention it frequently.”

Rachel and Mei Ling leveled glares at Wyatt for taking Flynn’s attention away from them. “You saved his life?” Rachel asked Flynn sweetly, leaning forward so that her cleavage was on nice display.

Flynn rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s so brave,” Rachel said.

“I think it’s noble,” Mei Ling added, elbowing Rachel.

“It’s stupid,” Wyatt said, his mouth running before his brain could catch up. “If you’d left me you’d be at home with Lucy instead of babysitting me.”

Flynn sighed. “And now I see I should’ve cut you off sooner.”

“Who’s _Lucy_?” Mei Ling sounded betrayed.

“Our girl,” Wyatt said. “Not _our_ girl but. Yeah. Our girl.”

“Our…?” Rachel’s eyebrows started climbing into her hairline.

“Lucy is a close friend of mine,” Flynn said. “She’s not anybody’s anything. It’s a concept Wyatt has yet to grasp.”

“You’re a… concept,” Wyatt muttered.

“Brilliant comeback. I see the alcohol’s taken your dull wit and turned it absolutely useless.”

“You’re gonna regret that in five hours when I’m sober enough to think of a good reply.” Wyatt rested his cheek on the bar. The wood was nice and cool.

A hand brushed through his hair. It took him a moment to realize it was Flynn’s. “You need to go to bed.”

“But you’re down here.”

“Yeah, I’m closing up.”

“Then I’ll stay here.”

He heard Flynn sigh, the hand in his hair stilling. “Fine. Pass out here if it suits you. But I’m not carrying you upstairs.”

“’S okay.”

Mei Ling and Rachel were whispering to one another, and then the two of them glared at him again. Wyatt stuck his tongue out at them, feeling oddly triumphant that Flynn was paying so much attention to him. Flynn should always pay more attention to him, because… because he knew Flynn, he knew Flynn’s past and Flynn’s anger and that Flynn was in love with Lucy and that Flynn was tangled up in something much bigger than anyone in this town could comprehend. He knew Flynn in a way none of these people could.

So there.

He didn’t remember passing out, but he woke up with a start when someone gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see the saloon was dark, and Flynn was gently looking down at him.

“Time to go up,” Flynn said softly.

Wyatt got up, his head pounding. “I haven’t been this hungover in years.”

Flynn helped him get to the stairs, where Wyatt could use the handrail to haul himself up. “I think you pissed the girls off tonight.”

“They deserved it,” Wyatt mumbled.

“Oh? And what did a pair of college-age girls ever do to you?” Flynn put his hand on Wyatt’s back to keep him from falling backwards down the stairs.

Wyatt snorted. “They want to fuck you.”

Flynn paused. “They’re just being nice, Wyatt.”

“And I’m the president. All the woman who come here want to fuck you.” Flynn looked like sin, with the bit of scruff and the floppy dark hair and dexterous fingers and being so goddamn _tall_ and being more patient than people—than Wyatt—deserved. Who wouldn’t want to fuck him?

Flynn made an inarticulate sound. “I’m… that’s an exaggeration.”

“Nooope.” Wyatt popped the ‘p’. “It’s fucking annoying, man, I think they’re competing to see who gets you first.”

“Well none of them are going to get me, so you can stop worrying about getting kicked out of the room for a night.”

“Too young for you?”

They reached the landing and Flynn caught Wyatt’s elbow to help him into the room. “I don’t really do the casual sex thing.”

“Oh c’mon. You’re…” Wyatt gestured at Flynn. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done a one night stand before.”

Flynn closed their door behind him and lightly shoved Wyatt back onto the bed. “Get into pajamas. And no, I haven’t. Sex actually means something to me, not that you’d understand that.”

“You think—what, I just slept with Lucy for shits and giggles?”

Flynn stripped off his shirt. Wyatt tilted his head, trying to see if he could count out a six pack, and then realized that was what he was doing and decided that closing his eyes was a much better option, less likely to end in humiliation. “Seeing how you tried to yank her around on a string while you had loud sex with your wife every night, yes, I kind of considered that.”

“Fuck you, so what your first kiss was with your wife on your wedding night? Just because—maybe, y’know, we jumped into sex a little early, Luce an’ me but it meant something, okay? I had nothing to live for until I met her and Rufus. And when I get back I’m—I’m gonna tell them that.”

“I’m sure Lucy doesn’t need any more platitudes from you but I’m sure Rufus would appreciate an apology.”

“Fuck off. You and your abs.”

“Me and my what?” Flynn stared at him.

Wyatt pointed at his lips. “I didn’t say that was okay.”

Flynn sighed, grabbing his night shirt and yanking it on, then stepping out of his pants. “My first kiss was with my girlfriend when I was fourteen. We split up when the war happened and I enlisted. Lied about my age. My best friend and I joined together, my girlfriend’s family got the hell out of dodge, that was that. Is your boundless curiosity satisfied?”

Wyatt couldn’t have said exactly why he blurted it out, but the next thing he knew he was saying, “Jess wasn’t my first kiss.”

“What?” Flynn raised his eyebrows.

“My first kiss was with Reggie Morris in the men’s locker room after football practice,” Wyatt said.

Flynn stared at him for a long moment. “Did Jess know about this?”

“You fucking kidding me? Nobody knew.” Small town in Texas? He would’ve been worse than dead.

“Forgive me if I can’t see you initiating that.”

“I didn’t. He kind of—he put his hand in the middle of my chest and kind of pushed me back against a locker and—y’know I was going to say ‘what the hell man’ but he told me he’d seen how I looked at him and next thing I know...” Wyatt shrugged. “We met a few more times after that, stayed late to practice or whatever.”

It had been a dirty-wrong rush, especially since he’d been fourteen and it had taken close to nothing to get him ruining his pants.

But Reggie had been the most popular guy in school and Wyatt had been... liked, but he couldn’t have people over at his house when he never knew what mood his dad would be in and he had been a freshman and he’d never known how to really talk to people and he’d been scared and not interested in being anyone’s dirty little secret and spending the next year terrified of being caught.

“Jess sometimes asked me what the hell gave me the courage to finally ask her out,” Wyatt added. “I really did like her. That wasn’t a lie.”

Flynn nodded, a light in his eyes as if Tetris pieces were falling oh so slowly into place. “So that’s why you...”

“Ah, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Lucy doesn’t know. Rufus—nobody knows.”

“No offense Wyatt but I think Lucy’s figured it out.”

Wyatt’s breath vanished from his lungs. “How—”

“Despite whatever glares you were sending me suggested, we weren’t having sex. We would just talk. She’d usually fall asleep, I took the chair.” Flynn sighed. “She needed a friend. So that’s what I was.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“And? My feelings aren’t her responsibility.”

Wyatt felt the jab, thanks. “And you talked about me.”

“Not the whole time. Sorry to burst your bubble but you’re not the center of her universe. But yes.”

“Thank you. For being there for her.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Because you’ve been sunshine this whole time.”

Fair enough. “So how does she... why does she, um, suspect?”

“Ian Fleming. That racecar guy. The gay bar.”

“That racecar guy is called Wendell Scott and he—okay point made.”

Flynn smirked at him, but not like he was making fun of him. “That’s when I asked her if she’d figured me out.”

“If she’d...” Wyatt’s stomach went a little hot and tight. “What?”

Flynn shrugged. “I met Lorena through her brother. I met him at a gay bar in Split.”

Wyatt choked. “What!?”

“My friends dragged me there, said I should finally get myself laid, he and I hit it off as friends, made plans to go to the beach, he asked if he could bring his sister, I said sure, it was Lorena.” Flynn paused. “He died on the Hindenburg.”

Oh.

...oh, _fuck_.

“Flynn, I’m…” Somehow he ended up lying on his back, but he didn’t remember doing that or how he’d gotten from sitting to staring up at the ceiling. “I’m real sorry. It was the—I could say it was the mission you know but—fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Flynn cleared his throat, then started untying Wyatt’s boots for him. “He was the only one in the family who believed me when I said I didn’t kill them. They were all willing to buy some cock and bull story about PTSD. Rittenhouse even doctored some fake therapist papers for Lorena’s family to find. Made me look unhinged. But he listened.”

“You killed Bam Bam,” Wyatt said, his voice softer than he wanted it to be. “That was my best friend in Iraq, man.”

Flynn got Wyatt’s shoes off and then took Wyatt’s hands, helping him to sit up so that Flynn could get his shirt off. “I’m guessing he was the guy Lucy and Rufus had with them in 1927. I’m sorry.”

“At least it’s fair.” Wyatt obediently lifted his arms so Flynn could get the shirt off and then help get Wyatt’s pajamas on. “I’m shit to you and you’re shit to me. We’re even. I’m shit to Lucy and she’s just. Lucy.”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

“Fuck you.”

“And where does Jess fit into this, might I ask?” Flynn walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in, elbowing Wyatt until Wyatt moved over to give him enough room.

“Somewhere. I wanna be a good dad. My mom fucking split when I was three. My dad hit me and scared the shit out of me. I want to be there for my kid. And I want… I want to help Jess.” He wiped at his eyes. “I can’t even be friends with you, how am I supposed to be a dad?”

“I’m not sure the two are related.”

Wyatt rolled over onto his side. “You’re a good dad.”

Flynn went still. “You never saw me be a dad.”

“But you’re—with the girls. The younger ones. You’re real good with them. You like them, like they’re kids to you. You’re good with them. I’m only good with women when I’m flirting with them. I’m not good with men ever.”

“I should get you drunk more often if it leads to personal revelations.” Flynn rolled onto his side so that he could look Wyatt in the eye. “Look, Wyatt, you’re shit faced right now, okay? Everything’s going to seem better in the morning.”

Wyatt groaned, dropping his head onto Flynn’s chest. “I fucking hope so. My tongue’s gone all fuzzy.”

Then he passed out.

 

* * *

 

Flynn had no fucking clue what to do about Wyatt.

He’d expected to hate the guy, be annoyed by him, all the rest, and he was. Oh he really was. Wyatt was the most annoying person Flynn had ever met.

But somehow, six months in… Wyatt was…

He was. Yeah. Something like that.

Wyatt would sit at the bar while Flynn tended it, making horribly awkward jokes and glaring at the women who got a little too, ah, forward with Flynn. Which Flynn appreciated because frankly he had no idea how to respond to it himself. He’d always been shit at flirting. That included turning down people who were flirting with him.

They shared a bed, which was awkward as fuck at times. More often than not he’d wake up with Wyatt using him as a pillow, or with him spooning Wyatt from behind, and it was annoying how much Flynn liked it. They’d stay up late talking, practically nose to nose, legs tangled, and Flynn was starting to get this bothersome soft, melting feeling in his chest when he woke up and saw Wyatt snoring quietly on Flynn’s shoulder.

Wyatt could still be a little shit, don’t get him wrong. They had arguments about Jess, about Lucy, about Rufus, about Rittenhouse, about the journal, about their awful fathers, about war, about history, about how to make the bed, about coffee, about whiskey, and about everything else in between.

But more often than not at the end of an argument Wyatt would go storming out, and then come back an hour later with his shoulders hunched and he would crawl into bed and put his head on Flynn’s shoulder and whisper, “you’re right. I’m sorry. You were right about everything.”

Their worst one was three months in, when Flynn told Wyatt he saw the world too black and white and Wyatt shot back that maybe it was a good thing since it kept him from being a psychopath who blew up airships. They didn’t talk for days after that one. But Wyatt apologized with a copy of _Frankenstein_ because, “Lucy said once that you said you really liked it and I’m a dick who did the same thing to bring Jess back that you did to bring your family back except the guy I killed was actually innocent, and Rittenhouse isn’t.”

Flynn wouldn’t have admitted it if a gun was to his face but he’d almost cried.

Wyatt made him laugh, shockingly. His sass got him into trouble sometimes but Flynn found he enjoyed it. Wyatt blushed when Flynn ran a hand through his hair, and looked pretty damn good doing pushups and stuff on the floor every morning to stay in fighting shape. Sometimes Flynn wanted to just pin him against the wall and see how quickly he could get Wyatt to beg, and didn’t that make the whole ‘sharing a tiny room’ thing even more awkward than it already was.

It wasn’t until he called Wyatt _štene_ , though, without even thinking—and Wyatt asked what it meant and then just rolled his eyes with an embarrassed grin on his face instead of killing Flynn on the spot—that Flynn realized…

Oh, fuck, he was falling in love with the guy.

So what the fuck was he supposed to do about it!?

 

* * *

 

At the saloon, Wyatt mostly kept himself to himself. He’d done the whole brash thing and it hadn’t worked out for him, and he just wanted to keep a low profile here. Flynn was the popular one, shocking of a concept as that was, and Wyatt was perfectly content to just sit at the bar and soak up whatever attention Flynn gave him.

Yeah, he could pretty much admit to himself now that he had a massive crush on the guy. Flynn gave Wyatt a verbal smack when he felt Wyatt needed it, but that had been happening less and less lately. Instead Flynn made him laugh, gave him soft little smiles across the bar top, teased Wyatt about his perpetual five o’clock shadow and his stupid hair that never went the way Wyatt wanted it to.

Wyatt could see now why Lucy had turned to Flynn, why she’d ended up basically sharing a room with him, why she, perhaps, even had feelings for him. Wyatt was feeling pretty ass over teakettle himself.

But he didn’t really talk to anyone else, and maybe that meant people had gotten kind of the wrong idea about him. Maybe that was why he was seen as an annoying interloper when he walked past a card game and one of the men drew his gun.

Wyatt grabbed the guy’s wrist. “Hey, c’mon. We don’t want violence in here.”

The guy jerked his arm out of Wyatt’s grip, standing up. Wyatt put his hands up to show he didn’t have a weapon on him. “I don’t see how this is any business of yours, jackass.”

“You’re supposed to keep all weapons holstered,” Wyatt replied, trying to keep his voice even and calm. “There are ladies present.”

Most of those ladies could break a man’s arm without blinking but hey, if the comment got the guy to calm down, Wyatt would play the gender roles card.

 The man just snorted. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He raised the gun. “Now how about you apologize.”

It might get him killed, but Wyatt had some pride left, dammit. “I’m not apologizing for trying to stop a fucking firefight.”

The man cocked the gun. “Boy, if you—”

The gun was wrenched out of the man’s hand by Flynn, who then planted himself in between the offender and Wyatt, his eyes blazing with hellfire. “Watch where you’re pointing that,” Flynn snarled.

Holy shit. Wyatt had almost forgotten the way he’d first met Flynn, the cold, hard edge to the man, but it was back in full force now. The fire hadn’t gone out, only banked low, and now it was a raging inferno.

“Don’t see how it’s any trouble of yours, Flynn,” the man shot back.

“You lay a fucking hand on him,” Flynn said, “and I’ll make sure you don’t have either of your hands left by the time I’m through with you, you hear me?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to clean up the mess,” Flynn replied. “You broke the rules, he tried to stop any of you getting hurt, now swallow your fucking pride and sit down.”

“Then I’ll just take it outside.”

“No, you won’t.” Flynn gaze darted to the side, towards one of the other men at the card table. “It’s David, right?”

“Yeah?” David replied.

Flynn cocked his head, looking at the first guy. “You two are a real panhandling team,” he said, his voice low. “If you catch my meaning.”

The first guy, and David, both looked shaken at that. It took Wyatt a second to realize what Flynn meant. Oh. Oh, damn.

Flynn took a small step forward. “You don’t care about any threats I make against you? Fine. But how well do you think David’s going to do against me, hmm?”

David was a slight man, about Wyatt’s height but a lot more slender and clearly not the fighting type. Flynn would wipe the floor with him.

The first guy looked scared, then angry, his eyes flashing. “So, what, he’s yours or something?”

Flynn shrugged. “If you’d like to think of it that way, go right ahead. So long as we’re clear—you hurt mine? I hurt yours.”

There was a tense moment where Wyatt feared the guy wouldn’t actually back down, but then he saw the guy’s shoulders slump a little and he holstered the gun.

Flynn nodded, stepping back. “I thought so.” He raised his voice. “Jim’s made it clear, no firearms. Understood?”

Everyone nodded and mumbled in response. Flynn turned around, putting his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Wyatt felt like he’d just gotten off the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. “Out back.”

Flynn raised his eyebrows. “Sure thing.”

Once they got out back, Wyatt burst out, “What the fuck was that?”

“You’re asking me what the fuck that was? That was me saving your idiot ass!”

“Idiot? I tried to stop a guy from shooting someone!”

“Yeah, that’s Ben, and you’d know that if you paid more attention to everyone around here, Wyatt, he’s got a fucking cactus up his ass.”

“He’s got David up his ass, apparently,” Wyatt snapped. “And I’m sorry, I was a little busy paying attention to you, unless you don’t like my enlightening conversation.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, don’t pin this on me. You’re the one who got a gun drawn on you because you don’t know which guys have the hair-trigger temper—”

“You didn’t have to swoop in and defend me if the concept upsets you so much.”

“Of course I’m going to fucking defend you, Wyatt—”

“Why? Because I’m ‘yours’? What the hell? Am I your fucking—”

“You don’t get to complain about that, not after how you treated Jess and Lucy—”

“Okay, fine, maybe I don’t, but I do get to complain if you’re going to bitch about how everyone thinks we’re together now—”

“I’m the one who’ll complain? Excuse me? I’m not the one who’s so far back in the closet he’s in danger of finding Narnia.”

“Oh come on, Flynn, you and I both know that closet or not I’m the last person you’d ever want to hook up wi—”

Flynn grabbed him and smashed their mouths together.

Wyatt clawed at Flynn’s shoulders, trying to get purchase as he was slammed against the back wall of the saloon, the wood biting into his back and shoulders. Flynn kissed like he was pouring fire into Wyatt’s lungs and Wyatt was instantly, painfully hard. It felt so good, not just being kissed but being kissed by Flynn, with such dominance and intensity that Wyatt felt like he couldn’t even stand up on his own anymore.

Flynn pulled back but Wyatt chased him, wanting more, greedy, and he sealed their mouths together again. Flynn’s tongue slid along his, pulled Wyatt’s tongue into his mouth, sucked on it, his teeth tugging and scraping at Wyatt’s lower lip, his hands roaming down and gripping like steel around Wyatt’s hips.

They kissed again and again until Wyatt felt raw with it, until Flynn jammed a leg between Wyatt’s thighs and he was rubbing against it like a fucking teenager, until Flynn was sucking at his neck and Wyatt was scoring Flynn’s back with his nails.

He wanted to come so badly, he wanted to be with Flynn so badly, he’d never thought this would actually happen and he wanted everything—

Flynn yanked himself away and Wyatt nearly fell over.

“You—no.” Flynn shook his head. “I’m not—this isn’t—we shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean, we shouldn’t? Are you the one in the closet now?”

Flynn glared at him. “I’m not doing this just because we’re—touch starvation is bad, it’s dangerous, but I’m not letting it get to our heads.”

“You think this is because I haven’t gotten hugged enough lately?” He wanted Flynn, he’d thought his crush was painfully obvious. “Asshole.”

Wyatt wasn’t going to put up with Flynn’s excuses. Fine, so it was just a spur of the moment thing. Whatever. He could move on from it.

It was fine, really.

Wyatt turned and strode back into the saloon, leaving Flynn alone.

 

* * *

 

Flynn woke up in his usual predicament: Wyatt warm and in his arms.

Look, morning wood was just something that happened, and he’d shared beds with men before in the war or on missions when circumstances called for it. You just ignored it politely and went on about your business.

But it was different when he woke up and was additionally spooning the guy he was, unfortunately, falling for.

Especially when they hadn’t talked about—about what had happened, especially when they were both trying to politely (for them) ignore it. Act like it hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t nearly fucked Wyatt dry in a fucking alley behind the saloon.

Wyatt shifted, pushing himself closer to Flynn, drawing his nose up Flynn’s throat. “Flynn?”

He looked down, which was a horrible mistake, because Wyatt looked unbearably soft, his hair all floppy and his eyes big and guileless. “Yes?”

Wyatt stared at him for a moment, eyes flicking down to Flynn’s mouth, and then back up to his eyes again.

Then he pushed himself up and kissed Flynn.

Flynn hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t thought Wyatt would be bold enough, honestly. But now Wyatt was kissing him very insistently and Flynn was kissing back before he could stop himself, his hand gently cradling Wyatt’s head to hold him in place until he could slide his tongue into Wyatt’s mouth.

Wyatt made a deliciously helpless noise and Flynn just had to get more of that. He rolled them, getting on top and pinning Wyatt down a little, kissing him again and again as Wyatt dragged his nails along Flynn’s back. God, he was hard, and Wyatt was hard, and it felt so goddamn good to kiss him, to feel how badly Wyatt wanted him, how eager he was, but…

“Wyatt.” Flynn pulled away, his heart giving a painful thump as he took in Wyatt’s swollen lips, his flushed cheeks. He wasn’t—it had been a long time for both of them. Sharing a room like this made even masturbation pretty much impossible. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that neither of them wanted this, probably needed it physically.

But this wasn’t just a release for him. Somewhere along the way, without planning on it, he’d come to have feelings for Wyatt. He still loved Lucy so much it felt like that love had always been a part of him. Not being around her was like missing a limb. But being with Wyatt had somehow given him an extra layer of purpose. He liked looking after Wyatt.

And Wyatt so clearly needed looking after. He protested and grumbled and whined and kicked up a fuss but he always did what Flynn told him to do. When Flynn wasn’t around, Wyatt would come looking for him, mild panic in his eyes. Flynn would gently push or prod him somewhere and Wyatt would go. Flynn was realizing that Wyatt had no idea who he was, or what he wanted, and that he was looking to Flynn for it. And while Flynn certainly wanted Wyatt to figure some of that shit out for himself on his own, without looking to someone else to tell him where to go or what to do, he also liked taking care of him. He felt protective of him.

But he couldn’t—he wasn’t going to just get off with Wyatt for the sake of getting off. Not when he’d nearly punched a guy into a bloody mess for threatening Wyatt. Not when he kept trying to keep his distance only to wake up with Wyatt in his arms, using his shoulder or chest for a pillow. He couldn’t.

Wyatt whined, arching up, his eyes glassy and his chest literally heaving, his nails digging ferociously into Flynn’s arms. He was practically vibrating underneath Flynn and oh, Flynn recognized that all right. Lorena had… helped him out, during those times, and so had Lucy in São Paulo, taking him apart until he didn’t have to think anymore and then gently putting him back together, relaxed and clear-headed. Wyatt practically screamed _top me_ at the best of times. Flynn wondered how long he’d needed this—and if Wyatt even knew what it was that he needed.

Flynn doubted it.

He swallowed down his emotions. It wasn’t what he wanted, but if Wyatt really needed this… Flynn could take care of him. He liked taking care of Wyatt. He’d just ignore the ache in his chest. He’d done that with Lucy, after all.

Flynn bent down again, swinging his leg over to press down fully, his weight settling between Wyatt’s thighs. Wyatt whined again, panting, arching up.

“Nuh-uh,” Flynn told him. He caught Wyatt’s wrists in his hands and pushed them up, taking them both in one of his hands and pinning them together over Wyatt’s head. Wyatt shuddered, pupils expanding until the blue of his irises was just a thin, bright halo, nearly swallowed by black. “Mm, you need this.”

Wyatt tried to reach up to kiss Flynn, but couldn’t, pinned down by Flynn’s weight and his hands. “Flynn—Flynn _please_ —”

A purr rumbled up in Flynn’s chest at the words. He reached down, tipping Wyatt’s face back so that Flynn could lick up his throat. Wyatt sobbed, hips twisting as he tried to get leverage. Flynn started thrusting into him, their cocks rubbing together through the thin fabric of their nightshirts, and Wyatt shuddered like he was going to fall apart.

Flynn skimmed a hand up and down Wyatt’s side, soothing him a little. “Take what you want,” he told him. “Go on, it’s okay.”

“I can’t I _can’t_ I need—”

“You don’t need anything.” Flynn kissed him, hard, bruising. “You’re going to come just like this.”

He kissed him again, shifting angle slightly until Wyatt yelled into his mouth and bit down on Flynn’s lip, and then he kept up that angle, shudders working up and down his spine. God, he wasn’t going to lie, it felt good, so good, and knowing he was helping Wyatt while he did it only made it feel better. Flynn was an idiot who liked doing whatever the object of his affection wanted, he’d be the first to admit he’d bend over backwards until his back broke, and knowing he was giving Wyatt what he needed was like an extra shot of oxytocin.

It was far from finessed or romantic. The bed was creaking like it was going to give out on them and this room wasn’t the honeymoon suite at the Ritz. Through the window could be heard the sounds of the town waking up, people yelling and cursing at one another and horses snorting and carts rumbling past and a train whistle. But none of that mattered, not when Wyatt was pushing the most beautiful noises into Flynn’s mouth and writhing underneath him and shifting from straining against Flynn’s hold to relaxing into it.

“Go on,” Flynn encouraged him. He tugged on Wyatt’s ear with his teeth. “Go on, let go for me.”

Wyatt gave a kind of sobbing noise. “ _Flynn_ —”

“ _Now_ ,” Flynn ordered, a growl lacing the edges of his voice.

Wyatt kissed him savagely, his hips stuttering and then thrusting frantically, and then he was falling completely apart as he came.

Flynn lost his rhythm, shoving himself along the crook of Wyatt’s thigh until he felt that final rush and spent himself, nearly falling on top of Wyatt in the process.

He carefully shifted onto his side so he didn’t crush Wyatt, letting go of Wyatt’s wrists. Wyatt’s eyes were glassy, his chest rising and falling deeply and evenly, his limbs completely relaxed.

Flynn knew in that moment he really was a sucker, because he’d do this as many times as it took, so long as it kept making Wyatt look this relaxed.

He reached up, gently cupping Wyatt’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the flushed skin. Wyatt pressed into the touch, his eyes falling closed and a pleased hum working its way out. Flynn’s heart ached like someone had punched him in the chest.

Oh, yes. This wasn’t casual, but it wasn’t what Flynn wanted, either. But he’d make do. So long as Wyatt needed this, until they could get back to Lucy and Wyatt could sort his mess out with her… he’d do this for him.

Flynn had work that day, but not until the evening, so he gathered Wyatt up in his arms. Wyatt clung to him, fingers clumsy, nuzzling into Flynn’s neck.

Flynn let himself drift as Wyatt slept.

 

* * *

 

About a month after they’d started fucking, Flynn walked into the room to find Wyatt sitting on the bed, fiddling nervously with a box.

Flynn paused. It was a very pretty box, done up with a dark red ribbon, even. “Is it your birthday?”

Wyatt jumped to his feet, startled, and then quickly thrust the box into Flynn’s hands. “No, it’s for you.”

“For me.” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “What did you do that you need to apologize for?”

Wyatt glared at him, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not apologizing, it’s… y’know.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m shit at this kind of thing, Jess was always having to remind me about dates but there’s not much else to remember around here so when I saw the calendar I thought… I mean it’s nothing it’s not a big deal I shouldn’t’ve…”

Flynn undid the ribbon and opened the box.

Inside was a very nice tie and a set of cufflinks.

“I know it’s not—but you like to dress nice, you care about how you look, you like wearing all those suits and I know a bartender doesn’t have much reason to get dressed up but your suit you came here in got ruined and I thought…” Wyatt’s cheeks were bright pink.

Flynn tried to remember what day it was. Neither of them could help keeping track of how long they’d been stuck here, wondering when they’d be rescued. If they’d be rescued.

It was a month to the day since they’d first made out, since Flynn had defended Wyatt and said that others could view them as together, if they felt like it.

Wait, did that mean…?

“Where did you even get the money for this?” Flynn asked. He wasn’t aware Wyatt had a job.

“I, uh, I help out the guys in Chinatown,” Wyatt said. “Fix up their houses, that sort of thing. I’m good with my hands, always had to patch up our house growing up.”

Flynn and Wyatt lived right on the border of the white side of town so they wouldn’t stick out like sore thumbs if Rittenhouse decided to come back for some reason, but they made frequent crossovers into Chinatown, if only to check up on the various friends Jiya had made.

“Not all of them can pay me and I don’t mind, usually they have me stay for lunch or something, but some of them do when they have some extra cash. So I saved up.”

Flynn’s heart felt like it was going to burst. “You should’ve gotten yourself something.”

Wyatt’s face got even redder. “I wanted to get you something. I’ve been… I’ve been shit, to you and everyone else since Jess came back, and I can’t apologize to Rufus or Lucy but I can apologize to you, and I thought… hey, happy anniversary, great excuse.”

“Anniversary.”

“I mean if you don’t do that kind of thing—I didn’t even think about, fuck, Lorena and all, if you don’t want—”

Flynn dropped the box onto the dresser, marched across the room, and kissed him.

Wyatt kissed back, his hands grabbing onto Flynn’s coat. “I guess that means you like it, huh?” he asked, a bit of his old sass working its way into his voice.

“And here I thought you only liked me for the sex,” Flynn teased, but he really had thought that, he’d completely thought that, and maybe some of that real hurt showed through because Wyatt kissed him again, until Flynn wrapped his arms around him and hauled them together properly.

“I like _you_ ,” Wyatt promised him. “I thought you knew—you said that sex meant something, so when we had it I thought that meant you knew, that I knew, that this was—I thought you knew. I got so jealous of all those girls, man, why do you think Rachel and Mei Ling fuckin’ hate my guts?”

Flynn kissed the corner of Wyatt’s mouth. “To the shock of everyone, including myself, I like you too, you bastard.”

“Asshole.” Wyatt was grinning, though.

If Flynn had to be stuck in this godforsaken town in this godforsaken time period, at least he had someone he loved with him.

 

* * *

 

They’d been working their way up to things, for Wyatt. Flynn had done everything, or what felt like everything, but Wyatt’s experience with another guy was a handjob, and even that was being generous.

But he loved how Flynn pinned him down and got him to squirm, to beg, and then finally to relax. He loved how afterwards he felt pleasantly fuzzy, all the voices in his head quieted. He loved Flynn’s mouth and hand on him, and returning the favor with Flynn’s instructions whispered to him in dark, rich tones.

He loved Flynn, period.

It wasn’t exactly talked about, the year being what it was, but people figured out that Wyatt and Flynn were the definition of a package deal and had started treating Wyatt with a bit more respect accordingly, which just made Flynn look stupidly smug. Wyatt figured it was karma.

He was getting up the courage to ask Flynn to fuck him—properly, all the way—when he looked at the date on the calendar and realized how much time had passed.

It had been nine months.

Flynn was in their room, washing his hands in the basin, when Wyatt entered. He looked up, and the half-smile on his face froze. “Everything okay?”

“It’s been nine months,” Wyatt said.

Flynn’s face grew grave. “Jess.”

Wyatt sat on the bed. “She’s giving birth somewhere, she’s having our baby and—I’m not there. I’m not there for my kid. My child. And I… I’d always promised myself that when I had a kid I’d do it all right, I’d be better than my mom or my dad, and now… and my kid’s going to grow up in a fucking cult and I can’t stop it and they’ll never know how fucking much I love them…”

Flynn crossed over to him, sitting down next to him and pulling him into his arms. Wyatt nestled his face into Flynn’s neck, holding back tightly, a few tears slipping free despite his best efforts.

“I’d give anything to be there,” he whispered. He’d give anything to be with Lucy, to get the chance to apologize properly, to get the chance to apologize to Jess, to Rufus, anything at all, he’d give it.

“You have me, for what it’s worth. Small comfort I know.”

“No.” Wyatt shook his head. “You’re—you’re enough, Garcia. You’re more than enough.” If he didn’t have Flynn… he’d be lost. Spinning out of orbit without a tether.

Flynn kissed his temple. “What do you want? What can I do?”

Right then, he wanted nothing more than to be completely connected to Flynn. To feel like even if he didn’t have the rest of what he wanted, he at least had him.

“I want us, together. I want you to fuck me, properly.” He felt Flynn stiffen and hastily added, “I already wanted this. I was going to ask. I just… remembered what day it was. But I want this, please, Garcia?”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” Wyatt pulled back, kissing him.

There weren’t a whole lot of words after that.

Flynn kissed him, a little softer than usual but just as deep, his hands coming up to gently cradle Wyatt’s face. Wyatt swung a leg over, getting into Flynn’s lap—a position he had quickly become comfortable with, and one in which he often found himself.

Flynn chuckled, bringing his hands down to skim Wyatt’s sides before getting them around his ass, guiding Wyatt to roll his hips down into Flynn’s lap. He could feel himself getting hard, could feel the shape of Flynn beneath him, and tilted his head back on a gasp, letting Flynn plant kisses slowly down his neck.

Wyatt yanked at Flynn’s shirt, struggling to get it off, even as Flynn got his hands underneath Wyatt’s own clothes and slid them up his back. “Impatient,” he whispered.

“Then get on with it,” Wyatt shot back.

Flynn growled and flipped him—Flynn’s ability to manhandle him would never not be hot—pinning Wyatt down and shucking his shirt before getting to work on Wyatt’s clothes. “Be nice and quiet now,” Flynn warned.

Wyatt was about to scoff that he was always quiet (which was a filthy lie, but whatever) when Flynn finally yanked his pants down and got his mouth around Wyatt’s cock.

Wyatt had to clap a hand over his mouth as a surprised yelp nearly shot out of him. Flynn kept it fast and loose, not really trying to do anything except drive Wyatt just that bit crazier, and then he worked his way even lower.

The first swipe of his tongue made Wyatt jolt. It was completely unlike anything he’d experienced before and he didn’t have the first clue what he was suppoed to feel or do—but then Flynn did it again, and again, circling, probing, and… and okay, this was… _hhnngghh_ …

Wyatt felt like he was fucking melting by the end of it, pushing back into Flynn’s touch, wanting more so that he could come but also never wanted this to end. He had a handful of Flynn’s hair and his fist shoved into his mouth and oh God, oh _God_ , sinning—if it even was really sinning—had never felt so fucking good.

Flynn pulled back, crawling up to him. “I feel like this is the part where I should remind you I’m clean.”

“But what if I get pregnant?” Wyatt replied. Actually it came out more slurred and less snarky than he planned. His motor functions weren’t quite back online yet.

Flynn chuckled, his hand moving down, and then two fingers were carefully scissoring Wyatt open, making sure. They’d done a little with this so it wasn’t entirely new but fuck, it still felt good, almost too much after the stimulation of Flynn’s tongue. “Thank God that can’t happen, you’d be a terror.”

“Thanks, baby,” Wyatt snarked—and then Flynn was taking himself in hand and hitching Wyatt’s leg up and oh, okay, okay that was… that was a lot, all right, _wow._

There was a moment of honest to God terror where Wyatt thought that it wouldn’t fit, it really wouldn’t, and that all queer men were insane for doing this. But Flynn was patient, sliding his cock in inch by inch, waiting, petting Wyatt in between, kissing him and making soothing noises, mumbling endearments in Croatian. Wyatt couldn’t understand all that was said but the tone came across fine, and bit by bit, he relaxed.

Flynn’s hips were flush against his, and Wyatt panted helplessly, feeling stuffed, feeling full to the brim, and feeling a bit shocked at how much he liked it.

“You good?” Flynn asked, brushing his lips against Wyatt’s cheek.

“Oh, yeah,” Wyatt slurred. “So very… good can you… can you move?”

Flynn gave a tentative thrust and ohhhh yeah. Fuck yes. “That. More, more of that. Oh fuck.”

Flynn looked savagely smug, then thrust a little harder. Wyatt moaned and Flynn had to clap his hand over Wyatt’s mouth. He didn’t stop this time, thrusting again and again, hard and fast, his hand staying in place as noises spilled out of Wyatt’s mouth—noises he hadn’t even known he could make, so there went whatever was left of his dignity. It was like his entire body was plugged into an electrical socket and he was melting and being reformed over and over again in the span of seconds. He was in Flynn, Flynn was in him, and he wasn’t sure who was holding who anymore—and that was how he wanted it. He’d lost everyone else. But he had Flynn, they were together, they were mirrors of each other, and he wasn’t ever going to lose him or this.

He marked Flynn up all over his shoulders and back, biting down on his hand at one point, his cock leaking and jerking as he was shoved ever closer to the edge. Flynn was staring to lose control too, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his grunts right in Wyatt’s ear.

Then Flynn hit a spot that made Wyatt fucking _scream_.

“That, that there, that right there, there there there oh fuck Garcia _fuck_ —” Flynn’s hand tightened on his mouth so he couldn’t rouse the neighbors by saying anymore but oh holy mother of God, _yes_.

He came embarrassingly fast after that, his body twitching and doing all sorts of contortion without his permission. It felt like he was being shoved off a cliff and freefalling and it was fucking fantastic and they were doing this as often as they physically could without killing themselves. Flynn bit a bruise into Wyatt’s neck just below his ear as he came, and the feeling of Flynn marking him up like that, making a mess of him physically like he had emotionally, felt like some kind of dirty poetry.

Either that or his mind was just kind of seeing everything as poetic. Orgasms were amazing things.

Flynn pulled Wyatt into him as he rolled onto his side. Wyatt clung to him, and Flynn kissed his eyelids, his mouth, his nose, his temple.

“I’m yours,” Flynn promised him. “You’ll never have to do without me.”

Wyatt kissed him, shaky from the orgasm and from everything raging inside of him. He thought about Lorena and Iris, about Flynn’s mother, his father, his brother, about Wyatt’s own parents, about his child being born somewhere in the world without him, about Lucy.

“You have me, too,” Wyatt promised him. In this century or in another. They were joined. Mirrors, although who was the original and who was the reflection, Wyatt couldn’t say. And he really didn’t care.

Flynn was all around him, and Wyatt was never, ever giving him up.

 

* * *

 

It had been ten months.

Flynn thought it was time they faced the fact that the team might not come for them.

Rittenhouse certainly wasn’t going to stop jumping around in order to give Lucy and everyone time to repair the Lifeboat, find a new safehouse, and come back for Flynn and Wyatt. It could be that Christopher had put her foot down and told them that they’d just recruit new guns, somehow. Flynn was well aware that he and Wyatt were the most expendable of the group—finding a new historian who was willing to throw their life away or training a new Lifeboat pilot were both more difficult than finding a displaced ex-Special Forces who was already used to life-threatening situations and keeping secrets.

They were cleaning up the bar after closing when Flynn brought it up.

“I think we have to start looking for a new place,” he said. “A proper house. Or apartment. Something more than just one room.”

“It’ll cost more,” Wyatt pointed out.

“I make good money here. You’re getting more handyman jobs all the time. I’ve got a little bit saved, we could make it work. Get a proper sized bed, finally.”

Wyatt eyed him suspiciously. “Kind of a big deal to do that, don’t you think?”

Flynn paused in wiping up the counter. “Wyatt. It’s been ten months.”

Wyatt swallowed hard, looking away. “Lucy wouldn’t abandon us.”

“I don’t think she’d want to, but she’s not the only person on that team. Christopher gets final say. You know as well as I do that Lucy has a hard time standing up for what she wants. And I can’t see Jiya or Mason insisting they come back for us. I’m not Rufus’s favorite person and he’s plenty pissed at you.”

“Yeah but… but they wouldn’t just leave us. I mean Jiya was stuck here for three years but we came and got her.”

“That’s still three years. I don’t want to be living in a tiny saloon room all that time. I want us to have a proper home.”

Wyatt stared down at the floor, scuffing his boot along the wood. Flynn reached out and took his hand. “Hey. We have to prepare for the worst.”

“We should send them a message,” Wyatt said quietly. He was squeezing Flynn’s hand so hard it felt like he was rearranging the bones. “Like Jiya did.”

They went back to Yunshan, to get their picture taken. Flynn wrote the message in French, for Lucy.

“I don’t know if I should be included in this,” Wyatt said as Fei helped her father set up the camera. “I don’t… do I really have the right to say this after everything I… all the shit I put her through?”

Flynn understood, and appreciated Wyatt’s doubt, but he felt these were rather extenuating circumstances. “Depends on why you’re saying it. Is it because you expect something from her in return, or because it’ll make you feel better to tell her?”

Wyatt thought about that. “I… I want her to know that I’m sorry, and that she was right and I was wrong. I want her to know that. And if some other asshole tries some shit like that on her I want her to remember what I said so she knows she was right and she’ll tell him off like she told me. And I want her to—she has no faith in herself, and she feels so alone, and I want her to know that she’s not. Even if we can’t be there in person, she’s got two people who think she’s amazing and who know she can do it.”

Flynn nodded, pride swelling in his chest at how far Wyatt had come. “Then it’s okay for you to be included in this. It’s okay for you to say it.”

The resulting picture made Wyatt laugh because ‘you look so goddamn _formal_ , Garcia’.

They had no way of knowing if Lucy would actually see the picture, but it was worth a shot.

The message in French said,

_Lucy, keep fighting. You’re stronger than you think. Don’t come for us. We love you. We’ll always love you._

 

* * *

 

It had been close to year, give or take a week or so.

They’d been asking around, trying to find a proper apartment to stay in. Houses were expensive (what else was new) but most apartments were above stores and so were already filled with the family who worked below. So for now, they were still in the saloon.

Wyatt didn’t mind too much. Sure there wasn’t a lot of room, but there were benefits. Like when they were dozing in bed and he could sleep on Flynn’s chest, feeling Flynn’s heartbeat in his ear.

It was early in the morning, definitely not time to get up yet. Flynn kept late nights closing the bar down and so he always slept late, and Wyatt was happy to keep the same schedule, but sometimes they’d go upstairs and get to talking, or sex, or both, and then dawn would be creeping over the horizon.

Conversation had died out a while ago, but neither of them were quite asleep. Wyatt had his hand on Flynn’s arm and was idly brushing his thumb back and forth, Flynn’s other arm heavy around his waist, his fingers tracing patterns into Wyatt’s hip.

Flynn’s arm shifted underneath him, taking Wyatt’s hand—his left hand. He held it up to the dim light coming in through the gap in the curtains. “You’re hand’s shorter than mine.”

“Mmm?”

Flynn put their hands palm to palm. Wyatt’s hand was a bit smaller, the fingers shorter, but just as wide. Flynn nodded, as if to say he’d thought as much. Then he reached around to the hand at Wyatt’s hip, pulling off his ring, and held it up so Wyatt could see.

On the inside was an inscription, Wyatt assumed in Croatian. “What’s it say?” Wyatt asked.

Flynn recited the words. Wyatt had no clue what exactly was being said, but at the same time, he felt he understood. The language sounded… well, beautiful, honestly, coming from Flynn. But then, he’d found Flynn had a way of making even the most tiny, mundane things sound like so much more.

“I meant, what does it mean,” Wyatt laughed. “Asshole.”

He could feel Flynn laughing. “It’s from _Much Ado About Nothing_. _I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes_.”

Wyatt’s own heart stuttered a little. “That’s a hell of a line.”

“Lorena’s said the same. The, uh, funny part is, the guy who says it, Benedick, he ends it with, ‘and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s’. He’s all romantic and then ends it being a little shit.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

Flynn took Wyatt’s hand, his thumb moving over the wedding ring. Wyatt had taken it off about two years after Jess had died but he’d never gotten rid of it, and he’d started wearing it again the moment he’d gotten her text. “Does yours say anything?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, go on.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Jess’s says _take my hand, take my whole life too._ Mine says _I can’t help falling in love with you._ And it has our initials, both of the rings do.”

“Elvis?”

“It was our song. Not all of us know Shakespeare.”

“Nothing wrong with a good song.” Flynn tangled their fingers together. “I wouldn’t mind wearing a ring that said that. I don’t suppose Shakespeare would be too pretentious for you.”

“Pretentious? No, why—” Wyatt realized Flynn was teasing him. “I hate you.”

“I’m aware. I’m serious, though.”

“Serious about what?”

“Wearing your ring. You wearing mine.”

Wyatt’s heart stopped.

He sat up, staring down at Flynn. There was no trace of humor in Flynn’s face. Just that soft look in his eyes. Once, Wyatt never would’ve thought Flynn capable of such softness. Now he knew better.

“You mean it.”

“I mean it.” Flynn sat up, propping himself up on his elbow. “I know it won’t ever be on paper. I don’t know if you’re religious…”

“Not really. I mean, I’m Christian, I guess. Dad never made me go to church or anything. It’s just kind of what you were, in my town.”

“Catholicism has made some strides in 2018 but in 1889 I don’t think we’re going to find a priest who’s quite that open minded. So it won’t be written down or official anywhere, but, if you want… I’d like to make this a promise between us.”

“A promise.”

Flynn held up Wyatt’s hand. “May I?”

Wyatt nodded.

Flynn took off Wyatt’s ring, holding both rings in his palm. He weighed them for a moment, then gently slid his own ring onto Wyatt’s finger. “You’re with me, and I’m with you. For the rest of our lives. If you want that.”

“I want that,” Wyatt said in a rush, his voice soft. Flynn’s ring fit onto his finger, warm from Flynn’s skin, and Wyatt felt something inside of him settle and click into place. “I—it feels like I belong with you, if that makes any sense.”

“It makes sense.” Flynn held out his palm.

Wyatt took his ring and slid it onto Flynn’s finger. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Oh, the horror,” Flynn said dryly. He pulled Wyatt in and kissed him softly. “ _Volim te_. _Ti si moje srce._ ”

They so rarely said it. Their relationship was based on teasing, on sarcasm, on comments where they said the opposite of what they meant. They said _I hate you_ and _asshole_ and _you bastard_.

But if they couldn’t let themselves be a little sentimental right now, then when could they?

“What’s that mean?” Wyatt asked. He knew what _volim te_ meant, and what _štene_ meant, Flynn’s usual nickname for him. But he hadn’t heard this before.

Flynn smiled at him. “You are my heart.”

Wyatt kissed him, hard. “You’re mine. I love you.”

Flynn grinned, flipping him over, and while most couples sealed the deal with the whole ‘you may kiss the bride’ thing, Flynn proceeded to seal the deal in a much more explicit way than that.

 

* * *

 

Flynn woke up to darkness.

He was curled around Wyatt, his chest to Wyatt’s back, and nothing was amiss. Wyatt wasn’t having a nightmare, there wasn’t a fight breaking out in the street (again)…

Then he heard it—the knocking.

He sat up, reaching for the gun under the pillow. He and Wyatt had kept their modern-day guns although they had yet to need to use them. “Who is it,” Flynn whispered.

Wyatt stirred in his arms. “Garcia?”

“Shh, it’s all right.” The last time he’d let a person he loved get up in the middle of the night to check on a noise…

Flynn got up, crossing to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, it’s Fei!”

Flynn opened the door to find their little friend standing there. She was beaming. “You must come quickly!”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong! Your friends are here! Jiya is here!” The young girl was bouncing in excitement. “And the very pretty lady. Just the two of them.”

“The lady who gave you the locket?”

Fei nodded.

Lucy. _Lucy_.

Flynn held up a finger for Fei to wait, then went and crossed to Wyatt. “Time to get up.”

Wyatt blinked awake, frowning. “What time izzit?”

“Lucy’s here.”

Wyatt sat up. “She’s—what?”

Flynn crouched down, pulling up the loose floorboard and grabbing the small bundle of money they’d hidden there. “Fei, you still have that locket?”

“Yes. My father says save it for a rainy day.”

Flynn handed the entire bundle to her. “Take this in exchange. Go run get the locket, then meet us where you met Jiya, okay?”

Fei’s eyes went wide as she took the money. “Yes sir!”

Wyatt stumbled to his feet, still half-asleep. “Where are they?”

“Probably the same place as before. Get your gun.” Flynn got dressed quickly, then helped Wyatt do the same.

They set out into the cold, misty darkness, alert for a trap or ambush. Fei met them about halfway there, Lucy’s gold locket swinging from her hand. “This way!” she said, handing the locket over.

Flynn’s heart thudded in his chest as he followed the girl. Wyatt looked pale, but he stayed quiet as they made their way through the trees.

The Lifeboat appeared, and Flynn’s breath all came out in a whoosh. They were standing there, in the same clothes he’d last seen them in, probably in case they had to go into town and blend in.

Jiya… and Lucy.

She was leaning back against the Lifeboat, but started up as she saw them, and oh God, Flynn thought he was going to collapse. Seeing her took all the breath out of him, took the very air out of the world, made everything go still.

Lucy’s eyes went wide. She took her skirt up in two fistfuls and ran for it, ran straight for them, careening into Flynn and reaching for Wyatt, clutching at both of them like she’d collapse if she let go.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry it took us so long, I’m sorry.”

Flynn wrapped her in his arms, soothing her. “It’s all right. We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“You’re all right?” she asked Wyatt, cupping his face. “You’re healed?”

“I’m good,” he promised her. “How—how’ve you all been? It’s been… it’s been a while, right?” He glanced over at Jiya, who was watching them with arms folded.

“Not such a while. The Lifeboat still has problems, we got to you a year later, I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “But for us it’s… it’s been a month.”

The color drained from Wyatt’s face and Flynn grabbed him, steadying him. “Whoa, there.”

“A month. Just a month? You’re sure?”

“Yes. We had to move to a new safehouse, a bunker up north. Fixed up the Lifeboat and dealt with Rittenhouse—Emma’s, she’s, well you’ll see.”

Wyatt looked at Flynn, and Flynn knew what he was thinking. It hadn’t been a year. Wyatt didn’t have a child he’d never met. There was still time.

“We have to go,” Jiya said.

“One second.” Flynn bent down to Fei. “Thank you for everything.”

She handed him the locket. “You sure I can’t come with you? It would be fun.”

“Ah, no. And how about you don’t tell anyone you saw this, okay?”

Fei nodded, waving as they all got up into the Lifeboat, Flynn helping to lift Lucy and Jiya.

As they got in, Flynn handed Lucy her locket. “Here.”

Lucy took it, staring. “You—but—”

“We bought it back for you.”

Jiya started up the Lifeboat. “Buckle up.”

Wyatt grabbed Flynn’s hand. He squeezed, hard, as they started to shake. Lucy wasn’t looking either of them in the eye, despite her enthusiastic greeting, and he had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side.

Lucy’s gaze flicked over to their hands and she looked confused for a moment, but then the Lifeboat was hurdling through space and Flynn grit his teeth.

Time, it seemed, had finally caught up with them.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt didn’t expect an enthusiastic greeting from anyone, but it still hurt that Rufus was a bit subdued in his greeting.

“Good to have some guns back on the team,” Mason said, shaking both of their hands.

Flynn looked surprised when Rufus hugged him, shooting Wyatt a panicked look as if to say _what the fuck do I do with this_. Wyatt rolled his eyes fondly.

That was the other thing. Now that he and Flynn were back in the 21st Century, back with the team… where did that leave them?

“I’ve prepared a briefing for each of you,” Denise said. “So you’ll be caught up. Wyatt…”

“I endangered the team, I know,” he said. He swallowed. He’d been rehearsing some version of this apology in his head for a year, but he still felt kind of like throwing up now that it was actually happening. “Bringing Jess into the bunker in the first place, refusing to listen to you when you said she was Rittenhouse, I mean all of it, really, it’s my fault. I was reckless and stupid, and I’m sorry. If you want to take me off missions, keep me here as some kind of backup for a while, I understand.”

Denise’s eyebrows climbed all the way up her forehead.

“Was that an apology?” Rufus said.

“Yeah, it was. And I’m sorry, Rufus, Jiya, I really fuckin’ am.”

“You sure he’s not feverish?” Rufus asked.

“Okay, I deserved that one.”

“We thought you two would kill each other,” Mason said, unhelpfully.

“It was a near thing,” Flynn replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to reacquaint myself with the wonder that is indoor plumbing. Wyatt probably wants to do the same.”

The protective edge in Flynn’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the others, who all shot one another confused looks. “Sure thing,” Rufus said. “I am glad, to have you two back. I mean it, Wyatt. I am.”

“I get if you need some time. But you’re my friend. And I want to fix it.”

Rufus nodded, stepping aside as Flynn took Wyatt by the elbow and led him away.

Lucy watched it all with her lips pressed together, her eyes dark and unreadable. Wyatt didn’t dare look at her. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? Did she forgive him?

“Shower and rest first,” Flynn said quietly. “Then we’ll talk to her.”

Wyatt nodded. Okay.

He definitely felt more like a human being after his shower—and after he let Flynn press him up against the tiles and roam his hands all over him, kiss him slow and deep, getting water in their mouths and in their eyes a little bit—but his stomach was still all tied up in knots.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

Flynn paused, turning away from the mirror where he’d clearly been debating if he wanted to go to the effort of shaving. “What do you mean?”

“This.” Wyatt gestured around them. “Being back.”

Flynn turned, leaning back against the sink and giving Wyatt a _go on_ gesture.

Wyatt took a deep breath. “When I’m with you, back there, I knew who I was. I was a good person. I didn’t hurt anyone. I fixed things with you and I loved you and you loved me and now I come back and I’m—I’m a fuck up. It’s only been a month for them, Christ, Jess probably isn’t even showing yet. Rufus is pissed at me, Jiya’s pissed at me, Denise is pissed at me, Lucy doesn’t trust me, I mean…” Wyatt wiped at his eyes. “I don’t know how to make it right, and I’m not dragging you down with me. Lucy loves you, and I know you still love her.”

“Wyatt—”

“I know you love me, I’m not saying I think you don’t, but you never stopped loving her just like I didn’t. Go be with her, be happy, it’s what you deserve.”

“Hey.” Flynn grabbed Wyatt’s shoulders. “I made a promise to you. And it won’t hold up in court or even in most churches but it means something to me. And I know it means something to you. I don’t care that there wasn’t a priest or a pastor or a rabbi or whatever the hell to see it. I told you I’d be with you for the rest of our lives, and I meant that.”

Wyatt’s knees almost buckled and he loved Flynn, God he loved him so much it fucking hurt.

“If anyone should be with Lucy, Wyatt, it’s you, you’re the one she’s been in love with this whole time. She doesn’t love me.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you, either, how stupid are you?” Wyatt burst out. “I love both of you and I want to be with both of you but if I can only have one, you’re the person I made a promise to. I didn’t choose her, I fucked her over, I’m not forcing that on her again. I’m not—I’m not going to repeat what I did before. You’re my spouse, you’re the one I’m choosing, you’re the one I’m sticking by.”

He was sorry he hadn’t been able to do that with Jess. He should’ve moved on, and let her move on, and he’d been a selfish coward for not doing that. But he had another chance and he wasn’t going to screw Flynn over, especially not when Lucy probably didn’t even want him anymore and certainly didn’t deserve another round of Wyatt’s begging.

Flynn’s face softened, and he pulled Wyatt into him. Wyatt held on tight, tucking his face into Flynn’s neck.

“Okay then,” Flynn murmured. “Okay, _moje srce_. We’ll tell her about us, so she knows. We’ll tell her everything and let her decide.”

Wyatt nodded. All right, then.

 

* * *

 

Flynn technically still had his own room, and Wyatt was alone now that Jess was gone, and Lucy was back on the couch because she seemed shy about approaching Flynn to share his now that he was actually back. Flynn wasn’t sure if Denise had thought Lucy would share a room with Flynn when she’d gotten them this new safehouse, but at least this new couch was bigger and more comfortable.

He’d catch Lucy looking at him, when she thought he wasn’t looking, and he was starting to think—to dare to hope—that Wyatt had been right. That Lucy did, in fact, have feelings, or the beginning of feelings, for him.

But that didn’t change the fact that after a year of sleeping with Wyatt in his arms, he was really pissed about sleeping alone again.

“Wha—”

“Move over,” Flynn whispered, sliding into bed and pulling Wyatt against his chest.

Wyatt relaxed at once, turning and holding onto Flynn like Flynn might disappear on him. “Couldn’t sleep without you.”

“I’m here now, _štene_.”

The next morning, he found Denise preparing her tea in the kitchen. She didn’t live in the bunker but sometimes she might as well have been for all the time she spent there. “Christopher.”

“Flynn.” Denise looked at him sideways. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I’d like you to tell Lucy she’s welcome to move into my room. My old room.”

“Oh? And where will you be staying?”

“With Wyatt.”

Denise turned to look down at her tea. “You two got over your differences, then?”

Flynn took off his wedding ring and held it out to her. Denise looked confused but took it. “Look on the inside. Is there an inscription?”

“ _I can’t help falling in love with you—_ is this an Elvis Presley lyric?”

“Blame the original owner, not me.”

Denise’s eyebrows rose. “W & J.” She passed him back the ring. “You’re wearing Wyatt’s.”

“He’s wearing mine.” Flynn put the ring back on. “We’re lucky we’re the same ring size.”

Denise dunked her teabag in her cup a few more times. “A lot can change in a year, can’t it? Especially when there’s only one person you can truly show all of yourself to.”

“It wasn’t just because—he was my man in the foxhole, yes. But that wasn’t why. He’s grown a lot. He’s not the same person who screwed up. I know that for you all it was just a month but for us it’s been a year, and that whole year he’s done nothing but want to fix what he broke. I didn’t plan on… anything that happened but it happened and I’d like to share a room with my husband, please.”

“Fine,” Denise replied. “And what about Lucy?”

“We’ll be explaining it to her. We love her, but if she’s not in love with me, or if she’s still angry with Wyatt, or both—we understand.”

“So long as your drama stops interfering with our missions, then I don’t care what you all get up to,” Denise said. “I’ll update the logs to reflect your new marital status.”

“It’s not legal. We didn’t see anyone for it.”

“Two men in the 19th century, yes, I can imagine. I’ll take care of it.” Denise paused, an amused look coming into her eyes. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“…thanks.”

Denise took her tea and walked off.

All right. So that was that.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt approached Lucy while she was scribbling in her journal over a bowl of cereal. “Hey, Lucy, do you have a moment?”

She looked up, saw Wyatt—and saw Flynn standing behind him. “Sure,” she said, her voice tentative, guarded.

Flynn sat down, working as he always did to be on the same eye level as Lucy instead of looming over her. Wyatt was too restless for that and stayed standing.

“We were in Chinatown for a year,” Flynn said carefully. “A lot of things changed in that time.”

“Enough that you two are sharing a room,” Lucy pointed out, her tone just as careful.

“I know it sucks,” Wyatt blurted out.

Lucy looked up at him.

“I chose Jess instead of you and then I fucked that up with both of you. And—and now it looks like I’m choosing someone else instead of you again and it probably looks like I’m taking him away from you and I know Flynn was—”

“Wyatt…” Flynn said, but Wyatt barreled on.

“I know he was your safe place and I mocked him and I judged you and I judged your friendship and I made assumptions and now here I am and I’ve—it feels like I’ve taken him from you, too, after I didn’t choose you, and I’m sorry. Because—look whatever was going on between you and me, I shouldn’t have chosen Jess. She wanted to hand me divorce papers and I should’ve let her. I spent—I spent way too long hung up on her and I was a shit husband to her when she was alive and so that—that whole thing, aside from you and me, I fucked that up. I know. And I'm sorry. I don't think I'll ever be able to make that up to you, and you don't owe me anything and you don't have to do anything with this. But we felt it was fair that you know I had feelings for you the whole time and I still have them now, and—”

“Wyatt and I were clear with each other from the beginning,” Flynn said, his tone quiet but firm. Wyatt stopped talking. “We both knew the other one was in love with you, and we still are, both of us.”

“I saw your picture,” Lucy whispered. “When I could look, to see if you two were okay, I did. I found it.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should… be in it,” Wyatt said. “But I wanted you to know I believe in you and Flynn thought you might want to know I was really alive and okay.”

“Wyatt’s my husband,” Flynn said. “And if you don’t want anything to do with one of us or either of us that’s fine, but I’m not leaving him and he’s not leaving me. So if you can… if you can find it in you to forgive him, and you still want to be with him, and you don’t mind me too much… you can… that is, you’re welcome to join us. But we’re a… a package deal, now.”

“We wanted you to know,” Wyatt said. “You deserve for us to be straight with you.”

Lucy looked from one to the other. “So this is… I’ll be honest it’s not at all what I expected when I thought about it.”

“It’s not what we expected either,” Flynn replied. “And we’ll answer any questions you have.”

Lucy nodded. “I… thank you. Um. This is a lot.”

Flynn looked at Wyatt, then stood up. “We’ll leave you to it, then.”

Lucy nodded again, watching them carefully as they exited.

The moment they got into their room Flynn turned and grabbed him, his hands shaking, his chest tight. Wyatt wrapped his arms around Flynn’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

“You’ve got me,” he promised. “You’ve got me, Garcia. You’ll always have me.”

Flynn just squeezed tightly, his breath choppy. For the rest of the night, he didn’t say a word, but he didn’t let Wyatt out of touching range, either.

For once, Wyatt was the strong one.

 

* * *

 

About a week later, there was a knock at their bedroom door.

Wyatt was deep in the bowels of Wikipedia on his phone, reading up on… Flynn looked down. On the Rolling Stone’s rather white male list of the 500 Greatest Songwriters of All Time, apparently. Seeing as Wyatt had started this internet journey by looking up the lyrics to _In the Heights_ , Flynn wasn’t sure how Wyatt had ended up on that page. Judging by the look on his face, neither did Wyatt. He had his head in Flynn’s lap, and Flynn was tapping out a rhythm on Wyatt’s chest as he read some Italian poetry.

When Wyatt had learned Flynn spoke Italian on top of everything else he’d declared Flynn to be ‘a dickhead’.

“Come in,” Wyatt called.

The door opened and Lucy stepped in, closing it behind her.

Wyatt sat up, hitting his head on Flynn’s book as he did so. “Ouch.”

Flynn set the book aside, shifting so that Wyatt could sit next to him and he could put his arm around his shoulders. “Lucy.”

“Hi.” Lucy sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze roaming around the room. “Pretty cozy.”

“Thanks,” Wyatt replied. He glanced at Flynn, who felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. Wyatt put his hand on Flynn’s thigh, trying to steady him. Flynn squeezed Wyatt’s shoulders in response. “What’s up?”

Lucy took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about what you two told me. And I would like to know… more about how it all happened. But I—it’s clear to me that you two are really… that you two are together. And it makes me happy, that you two make each other so happy. And the thing is, by the time we went to get Jiya, I was… I was starting to realize that I had feelings for you.”

She looked up at Flynn, who just about stopped breathing. Wyatt gently dug his elbow into Flynn’s side.

“I wasn’t aware…” Flynn paused, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t aware.”

“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to rush into anything after…” She looked over at Wyatt, who looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I still had feelings for Wyatt, too. Those weren’t going away although God knows I tried to make them.

“I struggled with it. The whole month you two were gone. I didn’t know what to do about it. It felt… it felt selfish to want… and then you’re told that you can maybe have both and you can have everything you want and it feels like—you can’t trust it because the rug’s going to get yanked out from under you again. And I… I really, really want to trust this but I’m scared.”

She wiped at her eyes and Flynn had to stop himself from reaching out to her.

Lucy laughed a little. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.” She pointed at Wyatt. “You’re on thin ice. I love you but you know it’s going to take more than just one apology to change things.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t just—you can’t just turn feelings off.”

“Oh, trust me.” Wyatt sent Flynn a knowing look. “I know.”

Flynn grinned at him, then looked over at Lucy. “Are you sure that you… that this is what you want?”

Lucy crawled over the bed to him, gently resting her hands on his chest. “You never answered my question.”

He scrambled to remember what she meant. “What question?”

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

He certainly gave a damn about Wyatt now, but the reason he was here, the reason for everything, hadn’t changed. It had been the same since she’d walked into the bar in 2014.

“You,” he told her.

Lucy kissed him, achingly soft and warm, as if she already knew how. “Then I’m sure.”

Flynn dared to wrap an arm around her waist—dared to hold both her and Wyatt, dared to let himself believe he could have this, he could deserve it—and kissed her for all he was worth.

And Lucy, smiling into it, kissed him back.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt got the call in the middle of the night.

He was sleeping on Flynn’s chest again because he loved Lucy but dammit that was his human pillow, thanks, and he’d gotten used to feeling Flynn’s heartbeat in his ear. Lucy was on Flynn’s other side, hugging him like a tenacious squirrel, her hand buried in Wyatt’s hair because she’d fallen asleep petting him.

He was well aware that Lucy’s free physical affection didn’t mean she wasn’t still tentative about this. He was careful not to initiate any contact, waiting for her to hold his hand, or cuddle up to him, or kiss him. It wasn’t… ideal, all right, he wanted to stop second-guessing himself with her, but he knew this was probably more than he deserved.

And Flynn was there. Flynn who was so in love with Lucy, who smiled at her with besotted softness, but who always wrapped his arms around Wyatt from behind and kissed his neck and asked him if he slept well. Flynn who had so much affection to give, to both him and Lucy, and Wyatt was more than happy to receive it. To bask in it, really.

And, well, he’d taken advantage of Lucy’s love long enough. It was his turn to have a little faith.

His phone kept ringing, vibrating on the nightstand, and Flynn was a horribly light sleeper, so Wyatt grabbed it and slid out of bed before it could wake him up.

Then he nearly dropped it when he saw the Caller I.D.

“Jess?” he whispered, slipping out of the bedroom and sitting down in the hallway, his back against the wall.

“Wyatt.” There was a long pause. “I… um… how are you?”

It had only been a month for her.

“I’m okay.”

“I tried—but your phone wouldn’t take any calls.”

He’d had his cell phone on him when he’d gone back to 1888 with the others. It had been stashed where they’d hidden their other clothes, clothes Lucy, Jiya and Rufus clearly hadn’t had time to go back for as they’d scrambled onto the Lifeboat. Wyatt and Flynn had gotten them and kept them safe, bringing them back when Lucy and Jiya got them.

“Yeah, it was in the 19th century. Can’t really take calls through time yet. I don’t even have a record of you trying to reach me.”

“It’s… it’s okay. I thought maybe… I’m glad you’re all right.”

There was another long pause. Wyatt broke it. “Listen, Jess, I was stuck there for a year. With Flynn.”

“Oh. Flynn. And you two didn’t kill each other?”

“Yeah, uh, about that. Actually.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “We’re married.”

He could picture the look on Jess’s face perfectly. “If this is a joke, Wyatt…”

“It’s not. We—we gave up on anyone coming back for us. And he took care of me, and helped me see all the ways I messed up, and he… he loves me, and I think I’m finally in a place where when someone loves me I can love them back without being an asshole to them. I was an asshole to you. I should’ve given you the divorce. I was jealous and stubborn and I refused to change. You deserve better.”

“I… you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that,” Jess confessed, sounding relieved and also a little like she was crying. “I care for you Wyatt, so much. I love you. I really do. But it wasn’t working, and then when we were in the bunker, I was lying the whole time and I hated lying to you because I do care about you and—thank you. For saying that.”

“I mean you deserve more than just me saying that but…”

“No, really, it’s… wow. You’re married. To Flynn. I mean a guy, that’s big enough but _Flynn_.”

“Yeah I know.”

“You hated him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Wow.”

A more companionable silence fell.

“So where does Lucy come into this?” Jess asked.

“Ah… it’s sort of all three of us, now? She’s in love with Flynn, and he’s in love with her, and I’m in love with her, and she’s—mostly in love with me? I hurt her, pretty badly. So she’s taking some time. But she says she still loves me so. I’m trying to trust that.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I wish I could say I was happy for you. Jess, I love you. I’m not in love with you but I do love you and you were all that I had for so long. Let me make it up to you, let me help you.”

“That’s… that’s why I called. Emma, she’s—I’m scared. I’m scared for our child. For how Emma might use it.”

“Then we’ll find a way to get you out. I promise.” He wouldn’t fail her in this. “I want… I want to be a good father. Jess I want to be there for my baby.”

“Then you’d better get me out so you can hold it when it’s born, Logan.”

He grinned, ducking his head down. “We will, Jess. I promise. And I’m keeping this promise. I’ll talk with Denise, we’ll get you out.”

“I’ll get you information. So she knows I mean it.”

“Be careful, Jess, okay? Be really fucking careful.”

“I will. You too, on your jumps. Stay safe.”

The door opened as he hung up and he looked up to see Flynn standing there.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Wyatt whispered.

“No, it’s okay.” Flynn reached down and Wyatt took his hand, letting Flynn help him up. “Everything all right?”

“Jess wants to play double agent. For our kid. I think… I’m not sure but I think maybe she was already thinking about it, before. I told her—I told her about us.”

“How’d she take it?” Flynn asked, pulling Wyatt into his arms and kissing Wyatt on the cheek.

Wyatt wrapped his arms around Flynn’s neck. “Better than I thought, given that a month ago I was trying to stay loyal to her. A month to her, anyway.” He shrugged. “She’s always been too good for me.”

“Not too good for me,” Flynn replied, grinning at him and resting their foreheads together. “We’re messes together, _moje srce_.”

Wyatt tightened his hold. “Yes.” Always.

Lucy stirred a little as they climbed back into bed, reaching out. “Mmm, my boys,” she slurred.

Wyatt loved her so much. Beyond words or description, beyond anything. He paused, letting Flynn settle on Lucy’s side, pulling her into his chest, but then Lucy seized Wyatt’s hand, tugging on him until he settled on her other side. Wyatt tucked her under his chin, his arms tangling with Flynn’s. Flynn kissed his forehead, squeezing Wyatt’s hand, and Lucy was curled up into his chest, and he felt—not just happy, but like he finally deserved it. Like he was in a place that he’d earned.

He drifted off to sleep, the woman he loved in his arms, holding onto the man he adored.


End file.
